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Birdie's had mostly to do with boys, and it was not long before Nance felt called upon to make a few tentative observations on the same engrossing subject. "The prettiest boy I ever seen " she said, "I mean I have ever saw" then she laughed helplessly. "Well, anyhow, he was that Clarke feller. You know, the one that got pinched fer smashin' the window the first time we was had up?" "Mac Clarke?
She painted a picture of wronged innocence that would have wrung a sterner heart than Dan's. "I know," he said sympathetically. "I've seen what girls are up against at Clarke's." Birdie's feverish eyes fastened upon him. "Have you just come from Clarke's?" "Yes." "Is Mac there?" Dan's face hardened. "I don't know anything about him." "No; and you don't want to!
And those who had found it convenient to pass the brief remainder of the night in their heavy, clay-soiled boots had the advantage of breakfasting at the first hot rush of Birdie's ministrations. And Birdie, with the understanding of her kind, had bestowed special attention upon the quantity and quality of the coffee, leaving the solid side of the meal almost unconsidered.
She was at that impressionable age which reflects the nearest object of interest, and shortly after Birdie's departure she abandoned the idea of joining her on the professional boards, and decided instead to become a veterinary surgeon. This decision was reached through a growing intimacy with the lame old soldier who presided over the Forest Home stables.
Her father pressed her sore but she said: "Father dear, I do not wish to marry; I can be quite happy with Coo-my-dove here." Then her father got into a mighty rage and swore a great big oath, and said: "To-morrow, so sure as I live and eat, I'll twist that birdie's neck," and out he stamped from her room.
She had worked in the ten-cent store until her misplaced generosity with the glass beads on her counter resulted in her being sent to a reformatory. But Birdie's bold attractions suffered in comparison with the elusive charm of the pink and white goddess with the golden curl. This change marked the dawn of romance in Nance's soul. Up to this time she had demanded of Mr.
Birdie's mother, faded and anxious, and looking unfamiliar in bonnet and cape, was evidently embarrassed by Nance's unexpected presence. "He sent for me," she said, nervously, twitching at the fringe on her cape. "I wrote to his wife, but he sent word fer me to come here an' see him at ten o'clock. Is it ten yet?" "Mr. Clarke sent for you?"
When the play was over, Nance, struggling into Birdie's complicated finery in the dressing-room below, wondered how she could ever manage to exist until the next performance. Her one consolation was the immediate prospect of seeing Mac Clarke and the mysterious Monte to whom Birdie had said she must be nice.
But nobody knew where she was; the note to Mrs. Snawdor still lay on the corner of the dresser. She heard a step on the stairs, then three light taps on the door. She scrambled to her feet before she remembered Birdie's caution, then stood motionless, listening. Again the taps and, "I say, Bird!" came in a vibrant whisper from without.
The man swung sharply around, the prison pallor of his face a pitiful, deathlike colour in the flashlight's rays. "Who are you?" he asked thickly. "A friend perhaps if you can open that safe," Jimmie Dale answered. A puzzled look crept into Birdie's eyes. "W-what do you mean?" he stammered. "I mean that I want the proof that you are straight," Jimmie Dale said softly.
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